


Day 4-Rebel Rebel, Put on your Dress

by StarCrysis



Series: 365 Day Writing Challenge [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Crack, Crack and Angst, Dark Crack, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Memories, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Poor Theon, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ramsay is his own warning, Sadism, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Theon-centric, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarCrysis/pseuds/StarCrysis
Summary: Theon stared at the wrinkled garment laid before him. It hung over the wooden table, arms carefully laid side to side. He wanted to scream. He wanted to fling the horrid thing into Ramsay’s face. But Theon’s wants were a matter of no importance; Reek’s were in control.I wrote this for the 365 Writing Challenge at http://thinkwritten.com/365-creative-writing-prompts/Original Tumblr Post: http://starcrysis.tumblr.com/post/168134042123/4-dancing-whos-dancing-and-why-are-they-tapping





	Day 4-Rebel Rebel, Put on your Dress

Theon stared at the wrinkled garment laid before him. It hung over the wooden table, arms carefully laid side to side. He wanted to scream. He wanted to fling the horrid thing into Ramsay’s face. But Theon’s wants were a matter of no importance; Reek’s were in control.

His master’s eyes bore into him, analyzing. Always analyzing for the slightest hint at Theon’s return to his form. Ramsay was most likely disappointed, not finding even one. At least, that’s what Theon would think. Reek knew his master was delighted. He dared not look directly at Ramsay, but turned to him.

“Is this.. for me?” queried Reek, his eyes shifting wildly. He knew not to assume anything, so he would always ask. Assuming meant punishment. Ramsay leaned back in his chair, his hands folded over his lap.

“Do you like it, Reek?” Ramsay’s voice had a hint of amusement, as it always had. His lips twisted into a snide grin. “I picked the perfect color for you.” Reek turned back to the garment, his sad eyes resting on it, thoroughly defeated.

It had long arms, but a harsh dip in the chest. The color was yellow? Maybe? Reek couldn’t tell in the fiery dungeon light. It could have been orange, perhaps an off-white. He fingered the material and was met with a thick silk. The dip was lined with a black lace; as were the wrists. Studying the length, he couldn’t tell how long it would be on his tall frame. He felt the black accessory lying to the right of the dress, as it was too dark to see the piece. It was a velvet corset, but smaller than his own lower torso. He wondered how he would fit in it.

“I said,” Ramsay’s words cut into the silence like an arrow into flesh. “Do you like it? Reek.” Reek twitched as the pace of his heartbeat quickened.  _No, no, no, don’t upset Master. He will_ _keep_ _us fed if we keep him happy._

“Yes, o-of course,” confirmed Reek. “Now?”

“Now,” Ramsay nodded, his smile fading slightly.

Reek’s hands trembled as he reached behind him, grasping the mangy clothing on his back. He felt more dirt crumble under his festering nails on his right hand. He could scarcely grip with his left. He soon stood naked, which was not unheard of in the presence of his master. Theon would have hated it; hated the way his body looked after being broken. But Theon wasn’t there, so Reek took little of what he hated to heart.

“Put it on.” His master’s voice sounded graver, making Reek rethink how much urgency befell the situation. He began to pull the yellow dress over his head. He stopped halfway; when his arms began to pull the stitching of the shoulders.

“Will it fit?” He was quick to make it a question, rather than saying it didn’t fit right out.

“It. Will .Fit.” Came the response, making sure to pause between each word. Ramsay was beginning to sound angry, and Reek quickly pulled it down, tearing the middle, making the dip become more of a ‘v’. He pushed his arms through the sleeves, and to his surprise, they fit snugly, rather than ripping the dress more. He realized that he must not have the shape he was used to in his arms anymore. He hadn’t realized how feminine his form was prior. The dress hung halfway down his calves. A chuckle sounded and his eyes darted to the sound.

“You look beautiful, Lady Reek,” Ramsay mused, and stood up, making it toward the so-called ‘Lady’. Reek immediately started trembling, his eyes darting to the ground, not daring to hold his head high as if he was an equal. The shorter man rounded him, plucking the corset off the table. “Let’s get this on you.”

Ramsay’s hands worked fast, lacing the corset with ease. Reek wondered if there were other “Reek"s he would dress up like that, as, why else would he do it so well? The thought let in a spark of jealousy. Theon would be disgusted at Reek’s regard for the torturous lech. Reek felt himself suffocate as the corset got tighter and tighter. He dared not complain, and he heard his master giggle.

"I’m only halfway,” Ramsay jested, knowing full well the Reek would be unable to breathe by the time he was done. Reek began to gasp as he drew near.

“And, done,” Ramsay announced, stepping around to face his creation. Reek struggled to breathe, taking shallow breaths into his lungs only, rather than his diaphragm. “I have a gift for you.”

Reek trembled, a feeling of dread sinking into his very core. He was hopeful it wouldn’t be too harrowing. He remembered someone named Theon hating gifts. However, Reek couldn’t hate them, but remained wary. When Ramsay returned, he was rolling something tall into the room, veiled by a sheet. His creation blinked inquisitively.

“Now,” Ramsay started. He pulled the sheet fiercely, revealing a full-length mirror. “You look stunning, don’t you agree?” He stood behind Reek and laughed. A sickly Reek stared in horror.

His matted hair hung to his jawline. He bore no facial hair, as Ramsay told him to shave earlier that day. The dress was barely on his shoulders, as they were too broad. His bare chest was almost in full view, protruding out of the ripped 'v’. White scars were etched into his skin like intricate pictures. The corset wrapped his midsection, and he was sure it would begin to crush his lowest ribs. It made him look skinnier than he already was, making his wide chest look almost like a bust. He was not Theon, but rather a crude effigy.

“You want to know the reason for this, don’t you, Reek?” Ramsay cooed behind him. Reek honestly hadn’t given it much thought. He was trained to obey, not think. He could see Ramsay in the mirror, significantly shorter than him, peeking from behind his shoulders. Reek nodded obediently, entertaining his master’s question. A smirk was plastered on Ramsay’s face as he stood up taller on the balls of his feet, earning him a few more inches. His mouth was right beside his creature’s ear now. “Dance for me, and maybe I’ll fuck you,” Ramsay whispered crudely and slinked back into his chair.

Reek blinked, not quite sure what to do. Well, he knew Ramsay wanted him to dance, but Reek was never taught how to dance. How was he to dance, if all he knew was what Ramsay had taught him? Suddenly, a memory pressed his mind. It wasn’t his, however.

* * *

A smile snaked on Theon’s young face as he drank his wine. He was seldom allowed, but seeing as it was his fourteenth Name Day, he was granted a few glasses. The taste of the vineyard was incredible, and the warmth that soared through him was enough to put him in a better mood.

Unlike young Robb Stark’s 9th Name Day(and the ones before that), Theon’s was a small gathering of Starks, with enough food as a normal Stark dinner. He supposed he appreciated it enough that he could drink wine this year, as his previous Name Days, he was younger and more guarded. He thanked the Drowned God he wasn’t executed, as he did every year. At least Jon Snow didn’t get anything more for his Name Day either.

Young Robb approached him, biting his lip. “Happy Name Day,” he chirped, not looking up at him. Tall, beautiful Lady Catelyn came up behind him.

“And may you have many more,” she slyly finished his sentence, then knelt beside her son. “Robb, gather that other boy-” she cocked her head toward a small Jon Snow, who was playing with a small wooden sword, as he wasn’t supposed to. “-And take him to his chambers.” She stood up and Robb nodded, happily starting toward the other boy.

“And make sure Old Nan is taking care of Bran!” she called. Robb didn’t even look back, his short legs fast retreating. Theon laughed; that boy was headstrong and dutiful.

Catelyn watched as Robb collected his half-brother and didn’t stop until they were out of sight. Her face was distrusting, and she half-turned toward Theon, still wary. “When he gets to be your age, he’ll be well on his way to becoming the Lord of Winterfell,” she gushed, not looking at him. “I’ll have to teach him how to dance.” The elder redhead chuckled.

"Why’s that?” Theon wondered aloud, his words slurring lightly, as, he finished his portion of wine too quickly. Catelyn turned fully to the smaller boy now, smiling.

“Lords must know how to entertain their guests and their betrothed,” she affirmed. Her pride shown on her face, skin crinkling where she smiled.

“I’m fourteen,” Theon blurted flatly. Catelyn’s smile began to fade. “Don’t I learn to dance?” The elder’s discomfort shown and she looked away, obviously pondering how she was going to answer.

“Who is going to teach you how to dance?” She looked around dramatically, trying to quell the conversation with humor. When she turned to leave, however, she was met with her husband’s eyes.

“I think Theon would do well to learn to dance,” Ned chimed in coolly, with sad eyes. Theon noticed this sometimes; when Ned would show him kindness, his eyes would change. He assumed this was because Ned Stark knew he may have to execute him one day. Theon knew as well.

“Yes, but who is going t-” Lady Stark began, but was immediately cut off.

“You can teach him.” Ned’s words now had a kind of sharpness. It wasn’t unlike the biting tone he acquired when speaking of Catelyn’s treatment of Jon Snow. His wife was incredulous and looked back at Theon. She stepped toward him, and he could see the smile on the Stark patriarch’s face behind her. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. She held one arm up, slightly bent. Theon stood up and stepped forward, anxious.

“What do I…?” he breathed, but was cut off by his dance partner grabbing his arm and placing on her waist. She placed one arm on his shoulder, then took his other hand, holding both of their arms out. She began to step.

A half an hour went by, and while Theon was halfway to being a decent dancer, Lady Stark was halfway to being a Greyjoy murderer. Ned took her inside before she snapped on drunk, neglected Theon.

Five years later, on Robb Stark’s Name Day, Theon watched the same woman spend hours teaching the younger boy a thousand ways to dance, including dancing alone.

Later that night, Robb Stark schooled Theon in his chambers, furthering Theon’s love for his future King. Robb had snuck them wine from his Name Day celebration, and they laughed and danced until the late hours of the night. It was Theon’s favorite Name Day, and it wasn’t even his own.

Always smiling.

* * *

The memory was foreign to Reek. He watched Ramsay untie his trousers, eyes burning into Reeks ridiculous form.

Obedient, Reek began to sway.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't ship Thramsay. Just something crack-y I came up with for the prompt


End file.
